


Garry's Own Angsty Thoughts

by BalloonBalls



Category: Ib (Video Game)
Genre: Bad Thoughts, Other, ib good ending, trigger warning as always
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 13:30:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11692638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BalloonBalls/pseuds/BalloonBalls
Summary: Oof another Own Angsty Thoughts. As always this is a super angsty look into a fictional character after trauma, and the character I have chosen today is Garry. It's late at night when emotions are raw and tears are just the same.





	Garry's Own Angsty Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> There's a reference to The Conjuring in this and I'm kinda curious to see if anyone catches it.

The air never felt as cold as it does in this very moment in time. Not specifically this moment though, for the past few months there's always an endless chill in the air. Nothing that a small jacket, or even a large one, can help to hide with. It's always so, so chilly. Especially in the night. When the blankets are tangled around the legs, the waist, the body. The atmosphere is dark, lonely, and cold. 

 

It always seems like there's some odd stare at every corner of the room. I wonder, does Ib sense this too? Did she ever take any of the paintings off the wall in her room? I did, I had to. Is she stronger than I am, is she able to keep all her paintings up? It's worrying, what's even more worrying is that I have no idea how she is, or how she's been. I told her we'd meet again, but now I'm just not so sure. 

 

 You know, sometimes I wonder. I know for a moment in time I could've just walked out of that art gallery, after all of this was over. For a brief period of time afterwards, I had no idea who that brown haired little girl was. She didn't know me either, we didn't even remember what had happened to us. The horror we had witnessed minutes before. Sometimes I wonder if it would've been best for both of us if we would've never remembered at all.

 

I'm happy I still have her in my life though. As much as I hated it, I ended up going back to that art gallery. I still go back to the art gallery. That's how I saw Ib again. She came a couple days later, flowers in hand. A bouquet of roses in hand, beautiful red roses. She was with her parents, and they did not want to be there again. When she saw me, she looked like she was ready to cry, running to me and hugging me. It was just like when she hugged me after...Mary...

 

The weird looks her parents gave me was...well, it looked like I was going to have to fight for my safety. Shortly after our hug had finished, I had to spend the next ten or so minutes explaining to her parents who I was. Now they think Ib got lost in the art gallery and I had to help her out the entire time. Ha, let's just go with lost. Anywho, I ended up giving her the handkerchief back, and she gave the roses to me. At closer inspection, they weren't real roses. She gave me fake roses, because those can never wilt and die. Those fake roses sit in a vase filled with water on my dining table.

 

I replay that day a lot, when I saw Ib again. We exchanged contact information, and I exchanged contact information with her parents. To this day, I don't know why she came to the art gallery again, maybe she knew she'd find me there. I don't know. Maybe it was a weird little act of fate. Fate brought us together once, why wouldn't it bring us together again? 

 

However, as these months have gone by, things just get more and more difficult with every passing day. I don't see Ib often, but she knows to always give me a ring when she's feeling...down about the entire thing. Her breath becomes unsteady, her voice unsteady and shaky. I do everything I can to make sure she isn't like that, and it seems like over the months she's actually getting a little better.

 

She, the little girl she is, told her parents about the incident shortly after they met me for the first time, and told them what we really meant by 'lost in the gallery'. Well of course, her parents never believed her at all, and shortly sent her to a child's psychologist. Ib tells me everything about the sessions, she just tells me everything in general. She's...probably the reason why I won't get any help.

 

She told her psychologist about everything, not thinking for even a second that something bad would happen. So now they believe she's, in lack of a better term, 'damaged'. Ib doesn't explain the sessions very well because after every session she sounds like she had just finished crying, and her knowledge is so limited she can't explain things very well. But from what my understanding is that her psychologist thinks she's 'hiding bad things from the past and pretending it's in paintings and art'. 

 

So, long story short, her psychologist believes something happened at the art gallery that traumatized her so badly that she changed it all to this 'fantasy world'. Of course, my name and Mary's name was thrown in the entire thing. Well, they can't figure out if Mary is 'real or not' but they know I am, so I was actually asked to attend a meeting. Of course she asked me for what really happened in the 'art gallery' and if I did anything to her. 

 

I told them I did nothing, and that I have...no idea why she's thinking such crazy things. I couldn't stand lying like that, but I know there'd be no hesitation to either send me to jail or a mental ward in a heartbeat. So I sit alone every night with my insane memories, and insane thoughts. Sometimes I do wonder if I really am insane, if none of this ever happened to either of us. If both of us are delusional, and it's just like the psychologist said. But that's not the truth, no matter how much I want to believe it is.

 

I barely even remember what it's like to have a clear conscious after all of this. I don't remember what it's like to have 'petty trauma' like being broken up with or losing a pet hamster. Now I wish more than anything to just...make this all stop. To go back to the old days. To go back to when I never went to that forsaken art gallery. But then Ib would've just gone in alone.

 

Ib is such a sweet girl, smart for her age. Sometimes when we call, she'll sit in silence with me for a moment. Then she'll say, "Garry, what's wrong?" and I want to just melt into that soft voice and open up, but I won't. She's just a child, and she treated like she's crazy. I can't put my own baggage on her. If anything, I need to help her more because no one else will. She's just a child, and no one can help her. 

 

Her parents have ended up talking to me about her 'condition'. They beg me to just tell them what I 'know', and they've recently started to keep me updated along with Ib's personal updates. I know they trust me, but they also suspect me. They're battling stuff too. They're battling if they think they should trust me, trust what their daughter says, the psychologist says. I just...this is all so messed up. 

 

I just know that at the end of the day I don't want anything bad to happen to me, and especially not to Ib. Over these past two months, she's become a new little sister to me. I want to give her the best I can give her, and I know I can't do anything as I just sit in my bedroom with all these blankets tangled around me. I just...can't get up though. I keep finding myself stuck in these blankets for days and days at a time. I don't want to get up, get out, move. It's all too terrifying to go. 

 

Ib is so much stronger than I am, she's able to get up and go. She goes to school everyday, she still makes good grades. It's kinda like it never happened on that aspect at least. I admire her and her strength for being so young. But I fear that it's just tearing her up. I'm afraid that there's sometimes she doesn't pick up the phone and call me when she needs me. I'm afraid that she's starting to believe what that damn psychologist is saying.

 

It's not like I'm any better though. I never reach out to her, she probably thinks i hate her. She probably thinks that she's just annoying me. Or maybe I'm overthinking things more than she is. Still, I wanna know though. I take a deep breath and look at my phone on it's charger. Pulling the phone off the plug, it flashes in front of my eyes and blinding me for an uncomfortable amount of time. Speaking of time, it's 3:07 a.m, isn't that just great.

 

She's probably sleeping now, like I should be. It'd be selfish of me to call her this late at night, I'd probably wake her up even. Still, there's a gut feeling in my stomach that's telling me to call her. It's almost as if it's taking over my body, taking over my better judgement. Or rather, I'm just making excuses for myself. Maybe I just want to talk to her, and I'm using any excuse possible to be able to talk to her. Even though it would inconvenience her. 

 

Besides, she doesn't even have a phone. She gave me her home phone number, I can't believe they still have a home phone. Nonetheless, that's how we communicate, and if I do call it'd probably wake up the entire house. But maybe, maybe I could just...give it a ring. Maybe it won't wake up the entire house. Maybe she is awake, crying her eyes out. I can't stand to see Ib cry.

 

I grab my phone, holding down the home button and wait for Siri to start up. "Call Ib." I say a little louder than any normal human being talks. "Calling Ib." The female voice said back to me, and then it started ringing. I put it on speaker phone, taking a deep breath and letting it out in a huff. This is probably a really bad idea. This is probably a really, really bad idea. 

 

After two rings, it picks up, and for an uncomfortable second I'm left in dead silence. "Hello?" A little girl's voice asks me over the phone, she's awake? She answered so quickly, she must've been near the phone and she doesn't even sound groggy at all. "Ib? Sorry for, uhm, calling and all. And so late even, haha..." I say a little too awkwardly. "Garry..." She mumbles through the phone, and I hear a sniffle.

 

"Ib? Are you alright? Are you sick? Is it allergies?" Then I pause, "Have...you been crying?" We sit in an even more uncomfortable and even longer silence before she takes a deep breath, then speaks, "Garry, I wasn't dreaming up the gallery, was I?" My heart dropped, she's...kidding right? "Would it just be easier if I let them tell me it's fake so this doesn't hurt anymore?" Ib asked me.

 

"Honey no, no, no. Not at all, you know the truth and it may hurt but in the future it will make you a better person. Why do you want to pretend it was fake?" I asked. "That's what you do, and you're fine. Is it because I want to believe in it? Is it because I'm just a kid?" She asked me. She...no. I haven't been helping her at all, I've just been putting a bandage over the wound, it's not healing at all. She must feel stupid for feeling broken down when the only other person she can share her trauma with looks like he isn't hurting at all. My...I'm not helping her at all.

 

"Ib...no. No that's...Ib." I sniffle, feeling tears welling in my eyes. I need a minute, a minute to wipe away the tears. I can't let her hear me cry-no. Hiding isn't going to help her. "Ib, the truth is...you're not alone in this. Everyday we walk with the same pain, I just didn't want to tell you because I didn't want to put extra strain on you to help me. I just want to help you Ib." I said, feeling tears rolling down my cheeks. 

 

"Garry, can we help each other?" Ib asked me, her voice cracking just like mine. "Yeah...yeah. I'll help you, and you help me. We can get through this...together. Okay?" I ask her, and I hear her finally let out a sob with a small and broken 'okay' mixed in with the wailing. And for the first time, I joined her in her cries. 


End file.
